


Stabby Roommates

by aztec234



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adrien Agreste Has Issues, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Badass Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Badass Luka Couffaine, Badass Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Bisexual Alya Césaire, Dungeons & Dragons References, F/M, Fluff, Flustered Luka Couffaine, Flustered Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Harry Potter References, John Wick (Movies) References, Light Angst, Luka Couffaine is Whipped, Marinette Dupain-Cheng has issues, Minor Character Death, Minor Ivan Bruel/Mylène Haprèle, Minor Juleka Couffaine/Rose Lavillant, Minor Luka Couffaine/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Platonic Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Platonic Relationships, Sharing a Bed, Spider-Man References, Strong Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vine refrence, lots of references, voltron references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28931781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aztec234/pseuds/aztec234
Summary: It started, like most things did, with a gun pointed towards his head.Or, Luka Couffaine finds himself a family forged with bonds.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Luka Couffaine, Alya Césaire/Nino Lahiffe, Ivan Bruel/Mylène Haprèle, Juleka Couffaine/Rose Lavillant, Luka Couffaine & Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Luka Couffaine/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 14
Kudos: 79





	Stabby Roommates

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Usage of guns (for comedy purposes), implied drug use (for comedy purposes), graphic threatening (for comedy purposes), some-what graphic violence (minor, for comedy purposes), implied minor character death (minor), implied/referenced child abuse (minor), language, some-what incorrect DnD references (please don't come at me), mentions of blood (minor), etc.

Juleka smiled at Luka, taking a sip of her coffee. “You’re fucking whipped.”

“What?!  _ No! _ ”

And as those words left his mouth, Luka Couffaine realized that he was, in fact, fucking whipped.

* * *

It started, like most things did, with a gun pointed towards his head.

Not that this happened often, but it was a big enough milestone to now be used sarcastically for almost everything.

“I am very sorry,” the Asian woman holding the gun said in perfect English, though her ‘r’s were a bit soft, “I usually do not do this, but I really need a job.”

Luka coughed weakly – because what else were you supposed to do in situations like these? There really should be instruction manuals available – and replied, “You can look around for one? Have you tried craigslist? There are good jobs there.”

The woman pressed the gun a little closer, Luka took another step backwards – and almost tripped, wondering how he ended up becoming the main character of this shitty story;  _ author, what the fuck _ – and the statement was rectified by adding, “In your coffee shop.”

He blinked, mind halting with a very loud mental  _ screech  _ that would have shredded the ears of a lesser being. “You want a job? In my coffee shop?”

When the woman nodded, he huffed a shaky laugh, eyes darting around his apartment, where he had been very conveniently ambushed – like seriously, how did this shit even happen? Who even  _ was  _ this ninja, Spider-Woman person who dropped from his ceiling and pointed a gun at him? “You could just apply for a position, you know. We accept walk-ins.”

“No. I need the job immediately.”

Luka blinked again and took note of the pounding headache hammering behind his eyes. “M-may I know why?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Luka licked his dry, chapped lips. “Well, miss, uh, miss—”

“Marinette.”

“—Marinette.” He shrugged his shoulders jerkily. “Welcome to your new job.”

The woman smiled,  _ finally _ lowering the damn gun, and said, “I look forward to working with you, Mr Couffaine.”

Luka didn’t care enough to ask her where she learned his name, and instead hesitantly returned her smile, as a chorus of angels sang  _ WHAT THE FUCK _ in the back of his head, all in full caps.

* * *

Juleka, Rose, and Ivan stared at him as he finished introducing Marinette to them, and he could almost  _ see  _ tiny thought bubbles suspended over their heads, all saying the exact same thing:  _ what the fuck? _

“She’s a sub,” he said, as if that solved everything in the fucking universe, “which means that whenever there is a shortage of staff I can call her over anytime. I will now take questions.”

All three of them, too polite to voice out loud what they were actually thinking, simply smiled their best  _ I-hope-your-coffee-was-to-your-liking  _ smile that they usually reserved for the customers that they wouldn't mind dousing with said coffee and clapped all too enthusiastically.

“Let me give you a tour!” Rose chirped, grabbing Marinette and bodily hauling her towards the back kitchen, away from them and Luka’s brain which was now screaming  _ DANGER DANGER  _ at the sight of Rose’s tiny, dainty hand on Marinette’s arm, the same arm which had pointed a gun at him not twenty-four hours ago, so the real questioning could begin.

“Who is she?!” Ivan demanded.

“I thought we weren’t expecting any more workers!” Juleka hissed.

Luka sighed, his hands coming up to rub his temples. “She needed this job, okay?”

When Juleka raised her eyebrow at him, he shrugged tiredly. “She did.”

“Uh-huh? This woman, who, from what I can tell, you didn't know before yesterday, suddenly needed this job bad enough that you gave it to her? Just like that?” 

Luka’s hands wandered from his temples to rub at his nose. “It’s complicated.”

.

.

.

“You’re a terrible liar, you know,” the woman –  _ Marinette  _ – whispered, coming so close so quickly and quietly that Luka almost jumped out of his skin.

“I am?” Luka whispered back, after having tampered down the involuntary yelp that had built up in his throat and going back to his minute task of measuring out half a spoon of coffee grounds, keeping one eye on the jar and one on the blue-haired gun wielder. 

“When you told your sister that it was complicated, you covered your nose, and in the process, your mouth. People tend to do that when they lie. It’s a subconscious tendency to want to cover their mouth.” Marinette gave him a look from the corner of her eye before her gaze flitted back to the entrance of the cafe. “Had she been a trained professional, she would have immediately called you out.”

“That being said, thank you for lying to her about my situation. I know it must have been hard and uncomfortable—”

“It really wasn't—”

“But had you told her the truth, I would have had to kill you both.”

The jar tipped ever so slightly in Luka’s hand, spilling coffee grounds all over the counter, and Juleka shot him a dirty look from where she had been washing cups.

Suddenly, his hands were too shaky, so Luka set both the jar and spoon down. “O-oh.”

Marinette nodded solemnly next to him.

They both lapsed into silence, Marinette staring at the entrance and Luka looking down at his hands and internally freaking out because  _ OH MOTHERFUCKER I ALMOST DIED _ .

“S-so, um. H-how did you know she was my sister?”

_ I ALMOST DIED I ALMOST DIED I ALMOST DIED— _

Marinette snorted, and shook her head, and Luka noted the way her blue eyes crinkled in amusement.

* * *

It worked way better than Luka expected, considering that their new barista was secretly some sort of trigger-happy John Wick, Spider-Woman hybrid with a flair of baking and  _ excellent  _ customer service.

Luka had felt his soul ascend to Heaven the first time she dealt with a rude patron, throwing him out of the shop none-to-gently, and he could tell the exact moment that Ivan, Rose, and Juleka had adopted Marinette. Ivan had even wept.

Where had the woman been all his life?

Luka had almost,  _ almost _ , thanked God for the beautiful gift that was Marinette Last-Name-Unknown, at least until he opened his front door at three in the morning after fifteen minutes of loud, incessant knocking and found her there, at his doorstep, with a duffel bag strapped over her shoulder.

“ _ Absolutely not— _ ”

A gun was cocked against his head immediately.

.

.

.

“Is this how you always deal with things?” Luka whispered to Marinette’s back, because of course she had insisted on sleeping in his bed, and when he had tried to refuse, he had found the same twice-damned gun pointed towards him. 

_ Again _ .

“Hm…” the woman hummed, curling a little tighter into a ball. “Pretty much.”

“You know, the couch is bigger.”

“The couch makes my back stiff.”

Luka huffed a snort. “You’ve never even slept on my couch.”

“All couches are the same.”

“I’m getting you a cot.”

Marinette chuckled softly. “Sure thing.”

.

.

.

When Luka woke up in the morning, it was with a small shape curled up against his chest and his arm slung around what suspiciously felt like a waist.

It was a waist.

Luka yanked back his hand so quickly that he fell off his bed.

When his brain finally stopped rattling in his head and his eyes were able to finally see properly, he registered almond-shaped eyes staring down at him.

“Do that again and I’ll cut your arm off.”

“Duly noted.”

.

.

.

And that was how Luka Couffaine obtained a tiny, murderous, non-rent paying roommate.

* * *

Out of the three magazines that Ivan’s girlfriend was subscribed to, only one of them had those tiny quizzes that would determine your personality.

And since Rose liked those quizzes, so did everybody else.

“And how would you describe the way you stare out of a window?” she asked, tongue peeking out of the corner of her mouth as she stared down at the folded magazine and then at Nino Lahiffe, cafe regular and occasional DJ-slash-musician.

Nino rubbed his chin, leaning back in his chair as his other hand went up to adjust his cap. After a couple of seconds of chin-rubbing and cap-adjusting, he snapped his fingers and said, “Forlornly.”

Lê Chiến Kim, westernly known as Kim Chiến Lê, and generally called Just-Kim, another cafe regular and sports enthusiast, snorted into his cappuccino. “Since when have you been a manga MC?”

As Nino squeaked and Just-Kim laughed, Rose distractedly turned away from both of them and came face-to-face with Marinette. “How would you describe your alignment?” 

Marinette shrugged, placing the steaming pot into the sink and running the tap. “I want money. Is that an alignment?”

Rose stared at her before turning back to the magazine and ticking something, muttering “chaotic neutral” under her breath as she walked past Marinette towards Juleka.

Marinette turned to Mylène Haprèle, the previously mentioned girlfriend of Ivan, and asked, “What does that mean?”

Mylène shrugged, hiding an amused grin behind her mug of hot chocolate.

.

.

.

“Oh, and by the way, why do you call Lê Chiến Kim  _ Just-Kim _ ?” Marinette inquired as they were closing up.

Luka paused for a moment to take in the way she very easily pronounced Just-Kim’s name, her tongue breezing over the accents. “Well, when he first came to this cafe, he insisted that we call him Just-Kim since none of us were able to pronounce his name very well. We’ve improved since then, of course.” 

Marinette blinked at him. “You started him calling him Just-Kim because he literally asked you to?”

“Yup!” Rose said, popping the ‘p’. “We’d never call him something he was uncomfortable with.”

Juleka nodded from behind her, whipping down another table before throwing the rag into the sink, where it would be washed and used again the next day.

“Oh.” Marinette frowned, rubbing her hands against her apron before taking it off and hanging it on the rack meant for the employees. “In that case, I’d like you all to call me ‘Mari’.”

Ivan crept behind her, ruffing her head lightly, which caused strands of blue-back hair to slip out of the neatly made bun that Marinette made first thing in the morning, in front of Luka’s mirror, with her eyes furrowed in concentration and multiple bobby pins on his bathroom counter, and even though his brain immediately screamed  _ DANGER DANGER  _ once again, it was more softly, as if Marinette had crept into his heart and he had subconsciously begun trusting her.

As if they had begun trusting her.

And as Rose grinned and leapt at Marinette and Juleka joined in their weird jumble of limbs to add in her own arm, Luka realized that they had.

.

.

.

It was when Luka looked and saw the extra shoes near the entrance to his apartment, and the second mug in his kitchen sink, and the herbal tea in the cabinet, and the second toothbrush next to his own, and sweet-scented toiletries in the shower mingled with his store-bought ones, and the second bed in his bedroom and the bobby pins on his coffee table and the new clothes in his closet and the horror books that had joined his romance novels on the bookshelf and the way his sheets sometimes smelled of strawberries and how that one time he almost stabbed himself because he had accidentally grabbed Marinette’s knife instead of his standard kitchen one and she had to bandage his hand…

He realized that somewhere along the line, he had started seeing her as a friend as well.

* * *

So of course, it all had to come crashing down.

Literally, because if somebody ever jumped down at Luka again, the way Marinette had done, the way  _ Adrien  _ had done, he was seriously going to lose at least twenty years from his life span.

_ Again _ .

Luka wasn't ready to die at sixty, goddammit.

Of course, it wasn't like any of that mattered to Marinette, who gasped and ran forward to crush the staggering blond boy so tightly that Luka winced.

And then they both were on the floor, clutching each other as if they let go, they would disappear, and then there were these tiny noises that sounded suspiciously like sniffling, and  _ holy shit was Marinette  _ **_crying_ ** _? _

Luka really needed a goddamn instructions manual.

.

.

.

After they both disentangled themselves from their mess of limbs – how were they even  _ doing  _ that?! Were their limbs not following the laws of physics?! – Marinette led Adrien towards the bathroom, and only then did Luka notice the long, harsh abbreviations on Adrien, which had cut through fabric and skin and stained his shirt with blood. 

After Adrien had been bathed and cleaned and handed a pair of Luka’s old nightwear and the first-aid kit used, the blond had crawled into Marinette’s lap and then been lulled to unconsciousness with a soft lullaby and a hand in his hair.

“I know you have questions,” the woman finally whispered, her hand still carding through Adrien’s hair and her eyes fixed on his sleeping face, “and I’ll answer them all.”

Luka resisted the urge to remark with a sarcastic  _ no shit, Sherlock  _ partially because a, he was a grown man and b, now was not the time to be sarcastic. “When the time is right?”

Marinette glanced at him and gave him a small smile.

Luka looked at her and wondered how someone so young could appear so old at the same time.

.

.

.

This was also how Luka obtained another tiny, murderous, non-rent paying roommate.

Go figure.

* * *

Now, when Luka got home, it was to three separate sets of shoes on his shoe rack and three toothbrushes in his bathroom and three different shampoos in his shower and three mugs in his kitchen sink and mystery novels added to the horror and romance ones already on the bookshelf and a third bed in his bedroom and tiny, sparkly clips mixed in with the bobby pins on his coffee table and those tiny, soft drink flavoured lip balms next to his standard, vanilla chapstick and iced tea formula next to the herbal tea in his cabinets.

Now, when Luka got home, the first thing that he usually thought was that he really needed a bigger fucking apartment. 

* * *

Adrien went job-hunting on a Tuesday, exactly a week after he scared the shit out of Luka and moved into his apartment.

Marinette might have had the power of guns and death on her side, but Luka still put his foot down on housing a freeloader, hence the inherent surfing of craigslist.

In the end, Adrien got a job at the same studio that Nino worked at, and everybody could see how those two got along like a house on fire.

Luka didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

*

“All right!” Rose cried, hopping up and down, magazine clutched in her hands. “Adrien, how would you describe your alignment?”

“My alignment?” Adrien furrowed his eyes, gazing intently into his lemonade as Nino looked at him curiously. “Um, alignment...straight?”

“...lawful neutral, then.”

From behind Rose, Ivan guffawed.

.

.

.

“What did she mean?” Adrien later asked Marinette.

Next to him, Mylène snorted into her drink.

* * *

“You know,” Alya Césaire began, which was never good for the general health of anybody in their tiny, nameless town, “we still don’t know your last name.”

Rose paused in her task of scrubbing mugs, thinly-veiled interest in her eyes, and even Max Kanté, resident know-it-all and technology whiz couldn’t hide his curiosity as he leaned forward in his seat, elbows propping up against the counter bar. 

Marinette glanced up at her briefly, before looking down as the espresso machine buzzed and coughed out another jet of black liquid, sputtering a little and then dying.

Luka glanced up at the bulletin board hung up next to the glasses, and read the note that he had pinned up in an effort to remind future-him to finally replace the stupid thing. A month ago. Oops.

“Why do you want to know?”

Alya leaned in even closer, Max practically hanging off his seat and Rose literally vibrating in excitement. “Why not?”

Whatever Marinette was going to say – or would have, she never opened her mouth – was drowned out as Nino noisily slammed his hands on the counter. “Don’t ask questions she doesn’t want to answer!”

“Fuck off, Lahiffe!”

As two squabbled like children, firing off petty insults and remarks, Juleka huffed an amused laugh. “So much UST.”

Marinette frowned. “Are they always like this?”

Max grinned, sipping his Café au lait. “Ever since Nino asked out Aurore Beauréal in their last year of high school.”

“And she’s pissed about that because…?”

“Alya was going to ask her out that day too.”

Marinette nodded, though Luka had a feeling she still did not understand, and went back to manhandling the espresso machine.

Maybe he should have her get the new one from the store.

.

.

.

“But seriously,” Ivan asked after Alya and Nino had taken their sexually-fueled, angsty shout-session out of the coffee shop and onto the street. “What  _ is  _ your last name?”

Marinette paused, and Luka got the impression that she was wracking her brain for an excuse.

“Fu.”

“Marinette Fu?”

She nodded. “Marinette Fu.”

.

.

.

“That’s not your real name, is it?” Luka asked as Adrien passed him the plate of noodles that he had ordered from the Chinese restaurant down the street.

Marinette shook her head.

“Then…?”

“It was the name of our old mentor,” Adrien answered for her, forking chicken and broth in his bowl.

Luka nodded and didn’t ask why it  _ was  _ instead of  _ is _ . “And you use that name too?”

Adrien nodded. “I used it when I applied for that job at the studio.”

“How does that work?” Luke furrowed his eyes. “You don’t exactly look Asian.”

“I passed him off as my adopted brother,” Marinette replied. “It’s worked before.”

Where it worked before, Luka didn’t know, but hopefully, someday, he would.

* * *

The first time Marinette had thrown a rude patron out of the coffee shop (mentioned: above), it had gone something like this:

Said rude patron, who thou shalt refer to as Asshole_1, had entered, in an expensive suit that probably cost more than Luka’s life would ever amount to, and with an attitude so high it would have put entire mountains to shame, and then proceeded to hit on Rose, completely ignoring the fact that she was twenty and he somewhere in his mid-fifties.

Long story short, he asked Rose on a date, Rose refused, Asshole_1 tried to grab her hand, which was when Marinette intervented by grabbing _ his _ hand and then fucking  _ judo flipping him  _ over her shoulder, called him a fucking walnut, and then dragged his whimpering body out of the coffee shop and dumped him on the street.

_ Badass goals _ .

.

.

.

The second time Marinette had to deal with a rude patron, Adrien had been there. So when Asshole_2 had tried to touch Rose – why was it always  _ Rose  _ they went after? Sweet, pure Rose – Marinette socked him in the stomach, spun him around in time for Adrien to plant a well-aimed fist in his face, and then tell him, quote-unquote, that he would “ _ kick your ass so hard that all your vertebrae will pop out of your mouth one-by-one like a Pez dispenser. _ ”

After the town sheriff hauled Asshole_2 away, the duo were subjected to a minute-long standing ovation, after which Just-Kim and Ivan pulled Adrien aside.

“Dude,” Just-Kim began, “where the hell did you get that insult from? It was sick as  _ fuck _ .”

Ivan nodded behind him.

Adrien nodded as well, though whether he was agreeing with what Just-Kim said or something else, neither knew. “Tumblr.”

* * *

“It’s April first!” Alix Kubdel exclaimed, jumping up and down like a chihuahua on a sugar-high.

“Okay,” Marinette replied. “And?”

“World’s most deadpan response,” Max cheered.

“What do you do on April first?” Marinette frowned. “At least, I’m assuming you do something on April first.”

Alix stared at her. “Dude, you don’t know what April fool’s is? Where did you grow up, under a freaking rock?”

She shrugged. “Kinda.”

“Okay, watch me.” Turning to Ivan, Alix shouted, “Ivan! There’s a spider on your head!”

Ivan jumped, letting out a strangled yelp as his hands shot up to shield his hair. “Holy shit, really?!”

Alix snorted. “Nope. You’re just really gullible.”

He groaned as Mylène laughed. “Mylène, stop laughing at it!”

“That’s what he said!” Max cheered.

.

.

.

“Just-Kim,” Marinette said. “I hate to bother you, but your jacket is on fire.”

Just-Kim snorted. “That’s not going to work on me, Mari.”

“No, I mean your jacket is literally on fire.”

“You’re going to have to come with a better prank.”

“Dude,” Ivan breathed, eyes wide in horror. “She’s not joking.”

Just-Kim set down his cup, turned around, saw his flaming jacket, and screamed.

.

.

.

“Okay,” Luka began, “ _ which one of you bitches set Just-Kim’s jacket on fire? _ ”

Adrien stared at the floor. Marinette pointedly avoided his gaze.

“Oh my fucking  _ god _ , you both are fucking  _ dead _ .”

* * *

A month after Adrien moved in, Luka sat both him and Marinette down, and told them very firmly, “You two need some damn hobbies.”

Adrien frowned. Marinette cringed. “Is this because we set Just-Kim’s jacket on fire?”

Luka hummed. “Oh no. It’s definitely not because you like setting people on fire. ”

Marinette cringed even more. Adrien gave her a sheepish look. “It’s definitely because we set him on fire.”

.

.

.

“ _ How— _ ” Luka thundered, stalking into the apartment with such force that Adrien squeaked and almost fell off the couch “ _ —in the ever-living fuck did you manage to get every single one of my social media accounts suspended?! At the same  _ **_time_ ** _?! _ ”

It was Adrien’s turn to cringe now, as he ducked his head to escape Luka’s scalding look. “Uh, I-I didn’t mean to?”

“ _ You didn’t mean to?! _ ”

“You did tell us to get some damn hobbies,” Marinette half-assedly defended her pseudo brother from where she was curled up in the loveseat, ideally flipping through a fashion magazine. 

“ _ Yes _ ,” Luka breathed. “But not by suspending all my social media accounts! How the hell did that even happen?!”

“He got in a spat with some dude,” Marinette replied again, a small, impish smirk appearing on her face. “After he got blocked on Instagram, he followed him on Snapchat, then Tumblr, then Twitter, then—”

“And you used  _ my  _ social media accounts because...?”

“I don’t have my own?”

“Then why don’t you make one.”

There was a look that passed between Adrien and Marinette before the blond shook his head. “No thanks.”

Luka didn’t press it further.

*

“I have decided,” Marinette announced, “to take an internship at Aurore Beauréal’s boutique.”

Record scratching. Sirens. Cats mewling.

Alya jerked her head from the newspaper she was reading while Nino turned his head around so fast that Luka swore he heard a  _ crack _ .

“Oooooh,” Rose cooed. “Mari, I didn’t know you were interested in fashion!”

Marinette nodded, delicately shaping the tiny foam cat she was drawing on the top of the latte that had been ordered by Adrien. “She put an ad out for assistants in a magazine, and I thought it would be a good experience for me.”

Ivan nodded sagely as he finished drying the glasses.

.

.

.

Amidst the bobby pins and tiny, sparkly clips, Luka could now see sketchbooks filled with scrawly doodles and designs for clothes, as well as several blunt HB pencils.

* * *

Rose’s coat was bulky, and for somebody who was quite thin and lithe, it looked incredibly suspicious.

Especially when those bulky masses started wriggling and moving and started resembling those weird-ass veiny thingies from the  _ Harry Potter _ movie after Harry and Ron had drunk the Polyjuice potion.

“Whatcha’ got there in your coat, Rose?” Juleka asked her, Ivan and Luka flanked behind her as said girl squirmed under their collective gazes.

“Uh...weed?”

From the inside of her coat, the world’s softest  _ meow  _ came.

.

.

.

It took both Ivan and Just-Kim to wrestle the coat away from Rose, and then both of them as well Nathanial Kurtzburg, part-time artist, to detangle from the fabric the five cats that Rose had somehow managed to hide inside.

One pure black, one pure ginger, one Persian, one which looked red, and the other...green?

Luka rubbed his eyes and checked again. Yup. Definitely red and green.

Apparently, even with four very tol TM human beings staring down at them, with varying stages of amusement-slash-grief plastered over their faces, those cats didn’t need any permission to begin exploring their new environment, freely climbing over the counter, two hopping onto the neighbouring tables and walking right through the customer’s drinks and food, while the red and green ones took it onto themselves to climb over the cafe’s  _ brand new expresso machine _ and basically just resemble Santa’s demented reindeer, but in cat-form.

“You don’t like cats?” Marinette asked as she reached out to pet the red one, which positively melted at the touch, arching her back and bumping her head against the palm of her hands.

“Oh gosh,” Luka muttered sarcastically. “What gave it away?”

Marinette hummed. “Well, either my ears deceived me, which we both know is impossible, or I just heard you refer to these two as  _ Santa’s demented reindeer, but in cat-form _ .”

Luka felt his neck flush as he realized that he had just voiced his thoughts out loud. “Oh. It’s just that Juleka’s always been allergic—” he pointed a thumb at his sister, who was currently using Rose as a shield as she cast the felines fearful looks “—and I never really got along with cats.”

Marinette cooed herself, scooping the red one into her arms and running her fingers down its neck, and Luka swore that the creature smirked at him.

.

.

.

“We’re keeping them,” Adrien announced, hands filled with black fur as the cat licked at his face and chin.

This time, Luka could only open his mouth before two guns were drawn in unison and pointed at him. “Oh, come on! I thought we were past this point— _ Adrien, do not bring that gun near me, I swear to god— _ ”

.

.

.

His couch, Luka noticed, had now gone from the nice, beige-color it used to be to what now looked like a rag covered with scratches and cat fur.

Though he had to admit, it looked quite homey, with how Adrien and Marinette were curled up with their new, animal patrons.

It looked  _ cute _ , with all the purring and the looks of pure devotion over the duo’s faces.

Of course, he didn’t speak any of this, and instead said out loud, “I really need a bigger fucking apartment.”

* * *

Apartment hunting, surprise surprise, turned out to be much harder than job-hunting. It wasn’t like he could just search up on craigslist for buildings to house three adults and their five cat children.

...could he?

Either way, it took him the better part of three days, as well as several strange dreams of cats suffocating him in sleep – god knows what a psychologist would make out of that - to find an apartment that minutely tolerated pets as long as they didn’t sneak into other apartments and created any sort of havoc.

Luka took one look at his five cats, all lavished with attention by their two devotees, and decided that it wasn’t going to be a problem.

* * *

“So,” Juleka began, leaning against the counter as she sipped her macchiato, “what is this I hear about you moving apartments? And why do I only find out about it from  _ Nino _ of all people?”

Luka slammed his empty cup against the sink edge and cursed Lahiffe to oblivion and back. Fucking traitor. “I-I was going to bring that up.”

“Uh-huh.” Juleka took another sip. “Tell me, brother dear, why is it that you’re moving out of your perfectly nice apartment that Mom gifted you when you turned twenty-one into one that has more than  _ one  _ bedroom?”

He sighed, wondering how his life came to this point, and said, “I’m living with Marinette, Adrien, and from a week ago, five cats. We  _ needed  _ a bigger apartment.”

“Wait, you’re living with them?!”

Luka gave her a questioning look. “Where did you think they were staying?”

“I don’t know, maybe a fucking hotel? Like Le Grand Paris? Since when have they been living with you?”

“Uh…” he took a second to weigh the pros and cons of telling Juleka the truth.

On second thought, there weren’t exactly many pros…

God’s grace, and god’s angel, because Marinette appeared and solved the situation herself. “My financial situation wasn’t great enough for me to afford an apartment of my own, so Luka offered me his couch instead. That’s how I also got my job.”

Luka stared at her, wondering where all her talk of killing them both vanished off to, and dumbfoundedly nodded.

The look that Juleka was giving her gave him the odd feeling that she was trying to mentally x-ray Marinette and see all the lies in her statement.

After a couple of seconds of x-ray scrutinizing and glaring, Juleka huffed and walked off.

Luka released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

* * *

It was a Saturday night when Marinette grabbed Luka by the arm and bodily dragged him out the back door of the cafe.

He was not proud to admit that the first thing he thought was  _ OH GOD SHE’S GOING TO KILL ME _ .

Which eventually changed to  _ OH GOD  _ **_THEY’RE_ ** _ GOING TO KILL  _ **_US_ ** .

_ They  _ being the gun-wielding fanatics currently pacing the interior of the cafe, checking under counters, and ripping open cabinet doors.

“Friends of yours?” Luka asked, and Marinette scowled in response.

“C’mon. We can’t let them see us.”

“And if we do?”

“Then we  _ both  _ will be dead.”

Marinette’s hand was still gripping his jacket sleeve, which she used to once again drag him away from the coffee shop and apparent death. “We need a place to hide.”

“Apartment?”

She shook her head. “They knew well enough to come here. It’s not safe to go back there.”

“Then what about Adrien?!” Luka demanded, panic creeping into his voice. 

“He’ll be fine,” Marinette replied, before swearing lightly and breaking into a run. “ _ Fuck _ , they saw us.”

.

.

.

Once upon a time, long ago, when Luka and Juleka’s mother had been drunk as fuck, and possibly very, very high, Anarka Couffaine had whispered into her son’s ear, “Nirvana is a place on Earth, kid.”

Of course, Luka never really paid any attention to her, considering she was, as mentioned, very drunk and very high, but now...he doubted his disbelief.

Because Luka Couffaine had found nirvana, and it was in the eyes of one Marinette Fu, who was currently pressed so tightly against him, that even a single shift had her skin rub against his, and while that didn’t necessarily feel  _ bad _ , per se,  _ they were in public for god’s sake _ .

“Was this,” Luka grunted, trying very hard to get  _ some  _ space, “really necessary?”

“Shut up,” Marinette snapped.

In an effort to ditch their pursuers, she had yanked Luka into an  _ incredibly  _ narrow alleyway, plastering them both into each other and then slinking as far back as possible, the shadows swallowing them whole.

“How long do we have to stay like this again?”

“Until they leave.”

.

.

.

_ Until they leave  _ turns out to be almost two hours long.

A hundred minutes, Luka had to endure being pressed up against Marinette. A hundred minutes, he had to endure smelling her strawberry-scented shampoo. A hundred minus of their faces being so tantalizingly close that he almost—almost—

“I think they’re gone now,” Marinette whispered, her head turning just as Luka’s lips brushed her cheek.

A pin could have been heard in the silence that followed, both of them freezing up before Luka yanked his face back, almost banging his head against the wall.

“I-I’m so sorry!”

Marinette ducked her head down, shuffling away from him and out of the stuffy alley. “It’s fine.”

But right before she turned away, Luka swore he saw a flash of red on her cheeks.

* * *

“Okay,” Luka began, “considering that half-an-hour ago I had to literally hide from people after both of you, now would be a great fucking time for you to tell me what the fuck is up.”

Adrien and Marinette exchanged a series of unreadable expressions, eyebrows slightly quirking and mouths twitching, and while it was incredibly fascinating that these two could communicate with nothing but their faces, Luka was really getting annoyed.

“Oy!”

“It’s too long a story for one night,” Adrien said. “So we'll just give you a gist.”

“Also because we don’t feel comfortable enough to tell you everything,” Marinette added.

Luka nodded, knowing that this was the best he was going to get. “Get on with it then.”

“We both were—” Marinette glanced at Adrien “—we were raised together by an organization, whose main goal was to develop a certain type of child soldiers.”

“Child assassins, if you may,” Adrien offered.

“It wasn't great,” Marinette continued. “It was hell, for lack of a worse term, and we both wanted out. Our handler, Nadja, agreed with us and sent both of us on two separate assignments which were a ruse to help us disappear. But, since they’ve found us…”

Marinette’s eyes glossed over. “...it means that Nadja’s…”

Luka didn’t know who this Nadja was, but he could see the effect she had on both of them. “So, now what?”

“I took this job with you because it gave me a cover. The people after us were on the lookout for two people who never learned how to accumulate into society perfectly, and I figured that having a job as somebody who had constant contact with others would divert attention.” Marinette let out a wet laugh. “Guess it didn’t work.”

“As for now...” Adrien trailed off before shaking his head. “Nadja had a daughter. We can't leave her behind.”

Luka looked at both of them with alarm. “Wait, you want to go back? Why—”

“We can’t leave her behind!” Adrien burst, tears leaking down his face. “Not after everything Nadja did for us.”

He looked at them, Marinette with her glassy eyes and Adrien with his tearful face, and realized…

*

It had been two months.

Two months since Adrien and Marinette had vanished with a promise of being back.

Two months since Luka had woken up to the smell of herbal tea and breakfast, two months since there had been three pairs of shoes on his shoe rack, two months since the horror and mystery books on his shelf had been touched, two months since bobby pins and tiny, sparkly clips and sketchbooks and HB pencils had littered his coffee table.

Two months since Luka started coming home to an apartment too big and empty for one human and his five cat children.

Too cold.

“You look like you’ve lost your soul,” Juleka observed. “If you miss those two so much then why don’t you call them back?”

“I told you, Juleka,” Luka grumbled, “that they both are away due to family problems. Me missing them isn't a good enough reason to pull them away from important matters. Also, who told you that I miss those two?!”

“M-hum?” Juleka raised a knowing eyebrow at him. “Whatever you say, brother dear.”

* * *

It was six months later that Luka got used to waking up alone and covered in cats.

Eight months in total.

And it wasn't for another month until he opened his front door to see Marinette and Adrien there, clutching a tiny girl in between them.

Luka stared at the girl. The girl stared back.

“This is Manon,” Marinette said in lieu of an introduction. “And I do remember a time when you said that we were past the point of using guns.”

Luka stared at those three and let out a quiet sob before crushing them against his chest.

“Congratulations,” Adrien wheezed against his bone-crunching tackle. “You’re a father.”

He sobbed some more.

* * *

Going back to the state that they used to be in was easier than Luka thought it would be.

Once again, his coffee table was littered with clips and pins and paper. Once again there were three pairs of shoes on his shoe rack. Once again his sheets started smelling like strawberries.

The black and red cats – christened Plagg and Tikki respectively – had once again made themselves comfortable all over Adrien and Marinette, and Manon had taken to the Persian one, naming it  _ Duusu _ for some reason.

Actually, Manon had taken to all the cats, naming the ginger one  _ Trixx  _ and the green one  _ Wayzz _ . And it seemed that the cats had taken to her too, following her around and climbing all over, making the young girl giggle.

Somedays, Luka looked at Manon and realized that once, even Marinette and Adrien used to be like her, before this secret organization broke them.

The thought didn’t comfort him.

.

.

.

There was something incredibly other-worldly about getting up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water and instead, finding a tiny Galra-like creature sneaking chips out of the packet you had bought the previous day.

For a full second, Luka stared at Manon, whose mouth was stuffed with chips. “D-do you want some hot chocolate?”

Manon nodded.

.

.

.

This was how Luka Couffaine and Manon Chamack spend the night, sitting at the formers dining table at three in the morning as the latter described a tv show she had watched about superheroes saving a city from something called Akuma’s and a villain with a stupid-ass name called Hawmoth, and he realized, that  _ oh _ .

Luka had officially adopted another child.

* * *

“I like you,” Luka said very bluntly one December morning, a cup of hot chocolate clutched in his hands as he stood on his balcony. 

Marinette shot him a look that wasn't exactly surprised but not knowing either.

From behind him, he heard Manon and Adrien giggle, caught up in their conversation about which flavour of iced tea was better.

“And I think you like me too.”

“So, what do you want? A relationship?”

Luka walked up next to Marinette, balancing his mug on the balcony railing. “As much as I would love that, I know that there are certain issues you have to face. You can barely take care of yourself. Throwing yourself into something so new...I don’t know what would happen.”

“You know you’re not making any sense, right?”

He sighed in frustration, running his hand through his hair. “Look, what I’m trying to say is that a relationship needs care. From all participants. But seeing that you, frankly, can’t even take care of yourself...I want you, but you have problems that you need to face. Some on your own, some that I and Adrien will go through with you. I want you to be free. But until then...”

There was a strange expression on Marinette’s face. “You’re saying that you’ll wait for me?”

Luke nodded. “As long as it takes.”

Marinette looked at him then, and yup, those were tears. “Thank you.”

* * *

A year ago, if you asked Luka Couffaine what home was, he would have described Thanksgiving dinner – was it still considered dinner when all you did was drink? – with his sister, his mom, and the picture of his dead dad.

Now, if you asked Luka Couffaine what home was, he would describe Christmas in his too-big apartment, with his sister, his sister’s girlfriend, his mom, the picture of his dead dad, his somewhat-girlfriend, his somewhat-brother-in-law, his five cat children, and his one human daughter, where, while they did not drink, they had chaotic fights over who got the best present.

Home, as Luka Couffaine would describe, was family.

**Author's Note:**

> This is just basically a shitpost of an idea that came to me two nights ago and my brain went " _shit_ , man, gotta write this down."
> 
> Hope you liked it! Comments and kudos are heavily appreciated.


End file.
